<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>On The Job by eleanorb</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409899">On The Job</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanorb/pseuds/eleanorb'>eleanorb</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Leverage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:46:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanorb/pseuds/eleanorb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardison tests his new facial recognition software with surprising results.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On The Job</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Guys, this, this here is state of the art. It searches the CIA, FBI, police evidence databases, security footage, military, Scotland Yard. If I’ve hacked it I can use it to build a profile.” Hardison is mostly talking to himself at this point. He installed the new processors and software two days ago and hasn’t stopped talking about it since.  </p><p>“Hey that’s not right. Eliot, Sophie, come over and take a look at this.”</p><p>There’s a data card on the screen for Quinn. The usual height: 5 ft. 11, weight: 170 lbs, eyes: brown, is supplemented with possible addresses, the details of two cars he owns in Canada, the name of a tailor in London and the downloads from a Spotify account featuring a troubling amount of eighties European rock.</p><p>“He’s working out of Toronto, nothin’ odd about that. It’s got good transport links, a couple of agents.” It’s clear Eliot means the sort of agents who find work for people with his, and Quinn’s, skill set.</p><p>“That’s not what I’m talking about. There’s just nothing before 6 years ago. Not here, not in Toronto. Hell not in London, Moscow or Tokyo.” </p><p>“Change of name, prison, plastic surgery, “ Sophie suggests.</p><p>“This baby has the best facial recognition software ever written. I should have picked something up, close matches, hints, something.” </p><p>Eliot grins. “Perhaps your fancy software aint all that.”</p><p>Hardison glares at him. “I just need to add more sources, Paris, Berlin, Prague. I’m gonna need so much more processing power.” He opens another window and starts noting down equipment and a whole host of agencies he hasn’t hacked in a while.”</p><p>The screen is still throwing up pictures, video snippets, dark web contracts. </p><p>“Wow, is that a sex club?” Sophie steps closer to the screen.</p><p>“Gay sex club. Outskirts of Vancouver, three nights ago.” Hardison stares then lifts his hand to his eyes. “Oh, that’s just nasty. Not the gay stuff, that don’t bother me, but what that guy there is doing.” Both he and Eliot wince.</p><p>“Why are we seeing this?” Sophie looks puzzled. She’s got nothing against sex clubs per se but this seems a bit random.</p><p>“There, that’s Quinn.” Eliot puts his finger on the screen then jerks it back as if he’s been burnt when Quinn moves past a man wearing a leather harness and with more piercings in his balls than skin.</p><p>Quinn’s shirtless and wearing the tightest pair of white jeans Sophie’s seen in years. “That is definitely not a gun in his pocket,” she zooms the screen in a little. ”And I’m guessing he wasn’t born in America, ” she smirks.</p><p>Both boys blush though, interestingly, the high spots of colour stay longer on Eliot’s cheeks. Sophie adds one more little snippet of information to her mental file on their retrieval specialist.</p><p>There’s one more quick shot of Quinn dropping to his knees in front of an attractive older man before the camera pans away across the room.</p><p>Hardison taps for a moment and the images are replaced by police report on the death of a Vancouver mob boss from a heart attack. A heart attack that happened, , in a hotel conveniently on the same block as the club.</p><p>“So that’s why he was there.”  Eliot shrugs and walks away but not before Sophie sees his blown pupils and wonders if he’s thinking about calling Toronto.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>